


Star Trek: What Dreams May Come

by Gilbert_H_Karr



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-22
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-11-27 11:36:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18194081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gilbert_H_Karr/pseuds/Gilbert_H_Karr





	1. Chapter 1

Darkness, like a thick velvet blanket, stretches as far as the eye can see, a suffocating void that leaves no room for shadows. Tiny pinpoint lights fight valiantly to dispel the gloom, with fleeting success. Thus the ancient battle between hyperborean darkness and conflagratory light continues, and each sometimes gives and sometimes gains ground. Neither the engines, nor the normal noise of day to day ship life can be heard down here, and the eldritch silence is jarring to both mind and body.

Lieutenant Kevin Thomas Riley stands alone on the lower observation deck, hands in pockets, barely registering the stars that streak by while the ship travels in the cold vastness of space. The ship has started feeling small of late, and he has come to the observation deck in hopes of regaining some perspective. He just can’t seem to stay out of trouble. First, there was the incident last year where he had caught the disease that came from Psi 2000, and, thinking himself the Captain of the ship, had regaled the crew with his version of "I’ll Take You Home Again, Kathleen" after locking Commander Scott out of Engineering and shutting down the engines. He’d been a navigator then. About six months after that, he had been kicked back down to Engineering without any explanation of what he might have done wrong. He had been poisoned, and overheard Doctor McCoy logging his exam in the ship’s computer. It was then that he had discovered that Kodos, The Executioner, and the man who had killed Riley’s family was aboard, and Captain Kirk had to talk him out of trying to kill Kodos with a phaser. Kirk had assured him that neither of those two things would be held against him, since he had not been fully in possession of his faculties in either instance. He had done everything he could do to redeem himself, even done everything Dr. McCoy wanted him to, in order to recover from the ordeal, but still he could not let go of the embarrassment. 

He felt the eyes of the crew on him whenever he was in their presence. He had the feeling that neither the crew nor the officers of the ship trusted him any longer, though none had said anything to that effect. Since he did not know what he had done to cause any of these feelings, he had no clue how to repair the situation. So, he had been doing his job to the best of his ability, hoping things would improve, but feeling more isolated every day. He had come here to get past that, to make peace with himself, and to regain some perspective on his chosen path by appreciating again the extremes of space—the vastness, the cold beyond cold, the darkness more than darkness. He turned to the large windows, staring out at the points of light that streaked past the ship, disappearing once again, but leaving a ghost of light behind them. Standing in awe of the terrible beauty of the universe stretching out before him, he made his decision. He would go to see Captain Kirk and request a transfer. Maybe on another ship, he could start again. There was no changing his record, he knew that, but perhaps on a ship where he was not well known, he could at least earn the respect of the rest of the crew. 

Riley dazedly walked to Kirk’s quarters, unaware of the lateness of the hour, or of anything, except the urgency of his situation. He half heartedly knocked on the door to Kirk’s cabin, and heard a puzzled “come” as the door slid open to admit him.  
“Mr.Riley," Kirk said evenly, eyeing the man with some curiosity, “is there something on your mind?” 

Suddenly realizing where he was, and what he had just done, Riley came to attention. 

“I apologize for the interruption, sir,” he said, formally. “I came to—“ and he choked, trying to get the words out.He recovered and said, “I came to ask for a transfer, sir.”

“Why, Mr. Riley? I thought you liked serving on the Enterprise.”

“I do sir.” Riley could not meet Kirk’s eyes. “It’s just that—well—I”

“You what, Mr. Riley?”

“Even you have to admit that my service lately has not been up to the usual standard.”

“I don’t have to admit any such thing.”

“I feel as though no one trusts me anymore.”

Kirk’s eyes narrowed, and he moved toward his desk, careful not to make any sudden moves that might startle Riley. Without a word, he sat down behind his desk, touching one of its many buttons as he did so. The button he touched would silently summon Doctor McCoy from sickbay. This was a signal they had worked out long ago, and it had stood them both in good stead more than once. He motioned Riley to sit, too.

“So, you just plan to run away, is that it?”

“I am not running away. I just don’t want to be where my talents are no longer appreciated.”

Kirk looked his young navigator in the eyes, trying to decide if the man had had too much to drink. Deciding for the moment that he was not sure, he spoke again, very quietly.   
“Do you know what it means to be a bridge officer, Mr. Riley?”

“I think so, sir.”

“What does it mean?”

“It means that I see things that some other members of the crew don’t ever get to see. I’ve never seen my bridge service as anything other than a privilege, sir.”

“Yet you want to leave it behind and transfer somewhere else, where you might not have the seniority you’ve earned here. Depending on how many navigators they have, it might be quite a while before you even see bridge duty again, at least on the main bridge.”

“I know, sir.” Both men were silent for a moment, and then Kirk spoke again. 

“The difficult part of being on the bridge is that the rest of the crew sometimes sees you as an elite group, which isn’t helped by the fact that you sometimes get to be where the action is, instead of waiting for it to come to you, as so many of them have to do. People, especially those in close quarters, need to entertain themselves. Unfortunately, not even starship crews are immune to jealousy or sarcasm. Most bridge officers learn to develop a pretty thick skin over the course of time.” He paused, gazing intently at the young man, the power of his gaze making his navigator shrink a bit. Finally, he said, “I can’t let you transfer, Kevin. Not right now. That would be tantamount to saying that I no longer had any faith in you, and it’s the worst thing either of us could do for your career. I’m sorry, Lieutenant.”

“If I can’t transfer, I could always quit.”

“I didn’t have you pegged as the quitting type. I tell you what. Take some time off. Rest for awhile. Maybe talk to Dr. McCoy about it. Give it until the end of this mission, and if you still want to transfer, we’ll talk about it again.” The Captain’s tone was not quite pleading. Kevin thought for a moment, but there was really no question that he owed this Captain that much anyway. He doubted his perspective would change, but he would wait.

“All right. Fine. Until the end of the mission.” Right on cue, the door chime sounded. 

“Glad to hear that, Kevin. Thank you. Now, I meant it when I said I want you to see Dr. McCoy. I just want to make sure there isn’t something else going on here.” While he was speaking, Kirk pressed the release to open the door. McCoy walked in, an inscrutable expression on his face.

“Like what?”

“You never know. That’s why I want you to see him. Cooperate with him, Kevin. Let him help.”

Kirk glanced at his Chief Medical Officer, and the look spoke volumes. The young man stood to leave, and McCoy moved to stand next to him. They left the Captain’s quarters together, and moved off down the hall toward sickbay.

(0o0)

Commodore Thavalan sat at her desk, engrossed in the schedule she attempted to rearrange. Data pads covered the top of her desk in the lab, and she felt slightly boxed in. She wondered, not for the first time, when exactly she had gone from solving the scientific puzzles of the universe and writing articles for scientific journals to rearranging the schedules of other people and keeping the department’s paperwork running smoothly. Was it really for this that she had given up a prestigious planet-side posting at the Andorian Medical Conservatory? She felt contentment enough with the path her career had taken over the years; she was simply accustomed to a bit more adventure in her life. Pulling herself from her reverie, and shaking her head to clear it of the cobwebs rapidly gathering there, brought on by too much paperwork and too little stimulation, she decided to take a walk. Raising a hand slowly from the desk, she gently massaged her temples, as though trying to rub a headache away. 

She cut quite a striking figure, her turquoise blue skin a nice contrast against snow white hair that stood naturally spiky on top, and fell to her shoulders. Her long, slender ears tapered to graceful points, which meant that her hearing was superb. Though delicate and small, her lean and powerful build served as a constant reminder that she came from a breed of warriors, though these days they chose to fight only when battle was unavoidable, or when they had a quarrel with a particular person or people. This build of hers prompted those at Starfleet Academy to encourage a career in security for the young cadet, but although she would not balk at defending the lives of herself and others, she was, first and foremost, a scientist.   
Young by today’s standards for her race, she looked no more than thirty five, by earth standards, and few could believe her true age, even when she told them. The first of her race to achieve the rank of Commodore, and one of the few females who had managed to earn that rank, since earning it seemed to require command of a ship; she took care to enjoy the privileges of that rank. She wore the higher ranks well, since she was a take charge type of person. Over the years, she had earned the reputation of being an outstanding doctor and she had long ago earned the grudging respect of those under her command. She knew that many in Starfleet and beyond regarded her as a strict and demanding leader, but a good one nonetheless. She asked no one to work harder or do more than she asked of herself, and she seemed to have a knack for knowing when to apply the spurs to get the work ahead done, and when to sit back and simply enjoy the ride, allowing those under her the chance to do their jobs and learn from their mistakes. 

She made a lap of the entire Starfleet Headquarters Laboratory Complex, lost in her continued meditations about her life and the meaning of the work she performed now. She did important work, managing a staff of two hundred thirty medical personnel at the medical complex in Starfleet headquarters alone, not to mention Starfleet’s magnificent medical research facilities, complete with twenty two state of the art laboratories, nor the countless hospitals on an untold number of worlds and inside an inordinately large number of ships, of which she was in charge. Her heart stirred with some seldom acknowledged emotion, and she realized then that she truly took pride in the work she was doing. Still, she sometimes longed to be back in the field, where there was a surprise behind every newly discovered species, mysteries in every wandering step, and always new things to see and to learn. She missed that. 

She turned a corner and found herself just down the corridor from her office, with no recollection of the path she had taken to arrive there. Chiding herself for not paying better attention, she turned quickly into her office and stopped, just inside the doorway, surprised to see her new assistant, Lieutenant something-or-other Clark waiting for her there. Quickly schooling her features to neutrality, and not uttering a word, she moved to the food synthesizer and ordered some tea, then made her way to her desk. She motioned the lieutenant to rest easy, and then sat down, facing him, behind her desk. Reaching into her desk drawer, she removed a small pot of Argelian honey, spooned a very small amount into her tea, and stirred briskly. She then took a small sip, swallowed, and leaned back in her chair, her eyes never leaving the lieutenant seated across from her, who seemed to shrink a little more each moment that she sat watching him.

“Tea, Lieutenant?”

“Sir?”

“Would you like some tea, Lieutenant?”

“Oh. No thank you, sir.” He looked at her uneasily, as if he feared she was about to turn into some dangerous creature of the night, stalking and devouring those who strayed into her path. The look on his face made her want to laugh, but she carefully concealed the amusement that threatened to show on her face. Her reputation preceded her, and the young man, fairly new to the Headquarters Office, had not yet learned to balance reputations with their living counterparts. She found the reputation useful, at least until those she commanded got to know her better, and so, she worked to protect it. 

“You needed to see me, Lieutenant?”

“No, sir. I mean—yes, sir. I think so, sir.”

“At ease, soldier,” she said, eyes twinkling with mischief. She gave him a moment to compose himself. He breathed a sigh of relief. She finally said, “Suppose you tell me why you are here.”  
“Admiral Komack wants to see you, sir. He buzzed while you were out, and asked that I have you report to his office immediately upon your return. He is waiting for you there now, sir.” The sir was supposedly an honorary title, bestowed on women who had achieved rank in Starfleet, and a throwback to the ancient seafaring practices from which much of Starfleet tradition had come. She had never liked it, but for now, chose to let it go. 

“Thank you, Lieutenant.” She started for the door. Then she turned back to the young man. “Oh, and Lieutenant?” 

“Yes, sir?”

“You always have permission to come and see me for something important. Like this. Okay?”

He smiled in relief. “Yes, sir.”

Giggling only loud enough for herself to hear, she walked down the hallway, strode into the lift, and commanded it to take her to the Admiral’s office. By the time she arrived, any trace of her former amusement was gone, and her features were once again pleasant but without expression. She knocked on the open door, waiting there for the Admiral to notice her. He sat deeply engrossed in a discussion on subspace link with someone, and his expression, though quite unreadable, waxed somber. She waited at the door until he noticed her. Motioning her inside, he thanked the person on the other end of the comm.-link, and closed the channel. 

“Commodore Thavalan reporting as ordered, sir.”

“Sit down, Dar.” That was not her real name, of course, but she had shortened it when she served on Earth, years ago, because the humans had no hope of pronouncing her real name. Then, when she moved on, the name moved with her, having been entered into her Starfleet record as a nickname, so she simply kept it. She sat down, as requested, and sat studying the Admiral, trying to divine some clue from his countenance as to what all of this was about. “You’ve been telling me how much you miss being out in the field. Are you up for another adventure out there?”

“What kind of adventure, sir?”

“A top secret mission. One for which we require a doctor of command grade or higher, with a top level security clearance, who has experience in deep space psychology and experience in a command capacity aboard a starship.” She fit that profile, along with about three other people in all of Starfleet. She was the only one working at the headquarters office. “I need an answer before I show you the file.”

“All right. Yes, I am.”

“Good. The file is biometric, so if you wouipld be so kind…” He handed her a heavy file book, and she placed her right forefinger on the proper spot. The computer copied it, compared it to the fingerprint on file for her, and then released the lock on the file. Sliding it open, she read silently for twenty standard minutes, while the Admiral sat watching her, before she finally looked up. 

“All right. If you would explain the mission, please.” He spent the better part of the next hour doing just that. When he finished, she asked, “Why does Starfleet think there’s an issue?”  
He handed her a record tape. “You will find the details here. Understand, we cannot afford to ignore this. Starfleet Command is feeling pressure from the major Federation constituencies to investigate. We are talking about the flagship of the fleet—the best of the best, and the youngest man ever to make Captain. Some would have said too young. Some have. Plus, Vulcan has a stake in this because their first native son is a member of the senior staff. Those are tremendous forces being brought to bear on the Federation to be sure of the outcome here. Can you imagine the field day there would be among member planets if it were to come out later that there had been a problem and we didn’t investigate it?”

“Oh pooh, pooh, pahdoo. Yes, I can imagine that, and I even understand where they are coming from, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it. As you said, we are talking about the best ship in the fleet. Don’t you think they would know if something was wrong?”

“That’s what we need you to find out. Look at it this way, Commodore, if there is something wrong, you are the one best equipped to handle any problems, and if there isn’t something wrong, your investigation will prove that, so that there can be no dispute. You are protecting their reputations.”

“Hmmm. All right. I’m intrigued, frankly. What’s my cover?”

“An inspection of the ship’s sickbay, first. Then, an extended observation of the ship’s crew, for whatever reason you determine.” He held out a small box. Taking it from him, she opened it and looked inside. The box contained several data tapes.

“For what purpose are these to be used?”

“That will be made apparent on the data tape as well.” He smiled. “Ready?”

“Not quite. One more question. If this is a top secret mission, what orders do you intend to send to the ship?”

“None. You can best explain what you are doing there in person, and I am sure you can understand why it is best not to give the ship too much advanced notice. The only potential problem is how to get you aboard.”

“Leave that to me, but be prepared to back me up if I need you.” 

“Of course. Any more questions?”

“No sir.”

“Good.”

“Give me a little time to pack and plan, and I’ll be on my way.”

“All right. Thank you, Dar. We are counting on you. Godspeed.”

Commodore Thavalan left Admiral Komack’s office, and made her way down the corridor and the floor that separated her office from his. She nodded to the young Lieutenant as she passed his desk, making a mental note to make a greater effort to learn his given name when she returned from this mission. She saw him flinch as she stopped and turned around.   
“Lieutenant, I will be leaving tomorrow for—well, personal business. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone. You are in charge of this office while I am away. If there’s anything you can’t answer, pass it to Admiral Miller, or as a last resort, Admiral Komack. Clear?” 

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Thank you Lieutenant. I will see you when I return.” 

She felt her knees beginning to buckle as she stood there, so without another word, she stalked into her office, locking the door behind her. She sank down in the chair behind her desk, overcome temporarily by a moment of dizziness. When it passed, she opened a comm. link at her desk and told the lieutenant to see to it that no one disturbed her. Rolling her chair over to a cabinet at the other end of her office, she opened it and withdrew an old fashioned black medical bag. Rummaging inside, she brought out a surprisingly modern hypo spray and an empty ampoule. Attaching the vial to the spray, she changed the setting. Slowly and deliberately, she rolled up her sleeve, every effort costing her precious energy. Harnessing every scrap of will that remained within her, she squeezed a stress ball until a vein popped out at the crook of her arm, and then she touched the hypo spray to the vein, wincing slightly as she watched her lifeblood flow into the vial. When it was full, she removed it. Thank God it hadn’t happened in Komack’s office, or in front of Lieutenant what’s-his-name. As of now, no one else knew anything about her condition.

(0o0)

Dar awakened some time later when her superb hearing picked up a knock on her door. She heard the Lieutenant’s voice calling to her through the door, and just had time to sweep the vial and the hypospray into her knee drawer and lower her sleeve before she heard keys in the lock. Fixing her best steely command glare on her face, she stood waiting for him to come in. The door opened and the lieutenant stopped in his tracks when he saw the look on her face. She spoke before she gave him the opportunity.   
“Lieutenant, I trust you understand the meaning of the words, ‘Do not disturb.’”

“Yes, sir, I do.” He lowered his eyes to the floor. 

“Then I assume you have a good reason for disobeying orders by coming in here.”

“Yes, sir. Admiral Komack had his aide deliver this data disk to me, and he told me that you must have this information before you leave.“

“Very well, Lieutenant. Leave it there on the corner of the desk.” He laid it down very carefully, and moved tentatively toward the door, shoulders hunched slightly as if eager to escape before being raked over the coals again. Enough is enough, she thought.

“Lieutenant?”

“Sir?”

“You did the right thing, coming to tell me of this. That’s the mark of a good officer—knowing when to disobey orders just as well as knowing when to obey them. Well done. You will make a fine senior officer one day, son.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“One more thing, Lieutenant. Next time, call me first.”

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”

“You are learning very well what I expect. Don’t you let anyone steal you away while I am gone. I don’t want to see anyone else in that chair out there when I get back. Understand?” She smiled.

“Yes, sir,” he said, returning the smile. 

“Why don’t you call it a day?” 

“Really, sir?” She nodded. “Thank you.” There was a little bounce to his step when he left her office. 

Reaching into her drawer, she drew out the ampoule filled with her own blood, labeled it, and then put it into the cryogenic unit with the other samples that would be tested the next day. She then repacked her black bag, careful to take the equipment she thought she would need. She knew the starship medical facilities were top of the line, but she still had a fondness for using her own things. She sat down behind her desk, placing the data disk in the slot below her viewer, and toggled the switch that allowed her to hear the message.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2  
[Flashback]  
Lieutenant Commander Montgomery Scott sat on the sickbay diagnostic couch waiting for Dr. McCoy to finish his tests. The riotous high that he’d been on since McCoy’s sedative faded fast, replaced by a pounding headache and a more than mild sense of embarrassment at the things that took place in the past two weeks. Rubbing his head, and hoping that McCoy did not notice, he thought back over what parts of the incident he remembered. It started when one of his female lieutenants touched the wrong end of a polarized probe to the matter-antimatter reactor, while he worked in the Jeffries Tube.

The surge of energy described in the logs, perhaps somewhat inaccurately, as an explosion, sent him flying against the bulkhead, knocking him unconscious. He wound up with a concussion. Images ran through his head, as distorted as if he were looking at them through a kaleidoscope. A woman in a red dress, dancing, dead. A group of people in a circle, chanting words that had no meaning. A strange knife and blood on his hands. Furry creatures all over the ship. Try as he had over the past days, he could not sort them out. Apparently, he had worked a normal schedule for a while after the explosion, before another minor accident occurred, this one involving [a fistfight with] Klingons and caused by his own pride, brought on a relapse and landed him back in his quarters first, and then in sickbay for another round of treatment. Finally, in the last few hours, he had started feeling better. Dr. McCoy, wonderful during the preceding days, now tried to determine his fitness to return to duty. He hoped that McCoy allowed him to return to his quarters at least, if not immediately to duty. 

McCoy placed the last of his instruments on the tray next to him, handed Scott two pills and a glass of water, and told Scotty to get dressed after he’d taken them and then join him in his office. That meant that he wanted to discuss something important, otherwise, he would relay the verdict then and there. Scott dressed hurriedly and then walked to McCoy’s office, wondering what the doctor would tell him. He knocked lightly on the open door, and the doctor motioned him inside and to a chair, then turned back to his screen and finished downloading data into his computer from his portable tricorder. Looking up finally, with an appraising eye, he asked, “So, Scotty, how are you feeling?”

“Much better, Dr. McCoy,” he said, almost too cheerfully. 

“Tell me what you remember after the explosion.”

“Na much at all, Doctor, and all a jumble.”

“What kind of jumble?” Scott winced slightly. Here they trod dangerous ground. 

“I’m not really sure, sir. Na much o’ it is clear.”

“Tell me what you do remember, Mr. Scott. Perhaps I can fill in some blanks for you.” Scott knew from McCoy’s tone that there was no choice, if he wanted to be released from sickbay any time soon, anyway.

“I seem to remember a séance, and a dead woman, and a knife, and me with blood on my hands. I also remember these furry creatures all over the ship, who dinna like Klingons, but I think I must have dreamed that because I couldn’t say where they fit into the rest of it. Can’t say I disapprove o’ their taste, but that was a nightmare.”

“That was no dream, Mr. Scott. Anything else?”

“No sir.” McCoy opened Scott’s paper file, picked up a small stack of papers from the top of a larger stack on his desk, glanced at something in the file, and then slid the papers in his hand into Scott’s file and closed it. Paper files were not strictly required, and, in fact, most people did not use them, but McCoy’s old fashioned country doctor approach to medicine, coupled with his distrust of all types of machinery, made him desire a tangible output for his tests, ‘just in case the computers crashed’, he told himself, though it had been at least half a century since any computers really crashed. They might occasionally malfunction, but even then, he could generally access his files. 

And besides, they did have Spock, their ace in the hole. The man might be immune to the charms of a beautiful woman, but those long, slender fingers were able to coax things from computers that the average person, no matter their training, couldn’t. There was all kinds of love in the universe, and in Spock’s case, the closest thing he’d seen to it was when the Vulcan was one with his precious data base. To each his own, he thought, but there’s no accounting for taste. Maybe that’s why he was always at odds with the first officer – they had two diametrically opposed views of the merits and pitfalls of technology, among other things. 

He broke out of his reverie, and looked up as Scott spoke again. “You mean that mumbo jumbo really happened?” 

“I’m afraid so. How does that make you feel?” That was McCoy’s way of gently pushing him to talk about what had happened, while his tone let the engineer know at the same time that he would not accept any cock and bull stories. He wanted the truth, and McCoy was a man who usually got what he wanted, one way or another, when it came to his patients. Scott sat silently for a moment, staring off into the far distance, considering. 

“Dr. McCoy, did I do anything—” he paused. He intended to say ‘stupid’, but stopped when he realized that was not what he really wanted to know “—embarrassing that I don’t remember?”  
“No!” McCoy growled, then softened his gruff tone and added, “No more so than the rest of us, though you might be embarrassed by some of what happened.” He smiled widely. “Relax, Scotty. You’re among friends. We’ve all embarrassed ourselves at some time or other, with the probable exception of Spock, and we’ve survived to tell the stories long after they’ve become simply funny stories, and no longer painfully funny ones. If it’s any comfort to you, at least you had an excuse for making a fool of yourself. You had a mild concussion, and a sedative. Also, if you did do anything ‘embarrassing’ as you say, the rest of the crew probably doesn’t remember either. After all, the Captain ordered tranquilizers for the whole crew. What about the crewman who caused the explosion?” McCoy purposely refrained from mentioning a gender, wanting to know how Scott felt by what he said. 

“She’s a fine, wee lass, and it was an accident. I hope the Captain won’t log it as negligence and place it in her file. She’s up for a promotion soon, and I’d hate to see her lose it.”  
“I’m sure Jim will consider what you have to say about the affair, Scott, but it was a mistake, however unintentional, and one that endangered the ship, and might have cost some of the crew their lives. You know the Captain. He takes these things very seriously, but whatever happens, Jim is a man who doesn’t believe that any failure is permanent. He’ll give her a second chance to redeem herself.”

“Aye, sir. I know. What about me? When can I go back to work, Doctor?”

“Let’s say tomorrow, Mr. Scott, if you go directly to your quarters when you leave sickbay and don’t come out until suppertime. I will be by to check on you later. Sometime in the next few days, I’d like to see you back here, and I want to see if we can sort out the memories in your mind into something cohesive, so you won’t have to worry about them.”

“Thank you, Dr. McCoy.” In truth, Montgomery Scott did not want to talk to anyone about what he remembered and didn’t remember; he’d just as soon forget the last two weeks altogether and focus on using his work to help himself heal, as McCoy had taught him. He knew that McCoy had a reason for any medical order he made, though, and the man had patched up various members of the crew too many times for Scott not to trust him. Besides, McCoy had this indefinable quality about him. Scott supposed that some just considered it part of his bedside manner, but as a member of the senior staff, who witnessed the Chief Medical Officer of the starship Enterprise in action more than once, Scotty knew that it went much deeper than that. McCoy cared about his patients to the same degree that Scotty cared about his engines, and though he might bellow at times, his anger was just another of the instruments he used to help his patients. He had a way of finding and bringing out the things that no one wanted to face, then laying a hand on a shoulder and making a joke so that the truth went down easier. In off duty hours, that sometimes even extended to sharing a drink with a patient while he felt them out. Scott came out of his reverie to find McCoy watching him, an unreadable expression on his face. 

“Problem, Scotty?”

“Nae. I’m just ready to forget all of this and get back to work, if you’ll let me.” McCoy smiled gently.

“I’m afraid that’s impossible at the moment, Mr. Scott. Our memories, especially the jumbled ones, have a habit of coming back to haunt us, and they tend to do so at the most dangerous times. I’ll promise to make it as painless as possible for you, though. Let’s just let them settle for a few days, first, all right?”

“Aye, sir.”

“Good boy. Now, get on over to your quarters, and I don’t want to see you out at all today except at mealtimes. Call me if you need me.”

“Yes, sir.” Scotty fairly bolted from the room before the doctor had a chance to change his mind. 

“Computer?”

“Working.” 

“Play log entry regarding James T Kirk.”

“Specify.”

“Third entry,” he said, choosing a random number.

“Acknowledged”

“Lieutenant James Kirk slowly opened his eyes and was immediately inundated with the strangeness of the room he was in. Only one thing was certain—he was no longer on the ship, which is where he last remembered being. That must mean that the ship’s crew was temporarily planet-side. The beeps and chirps and whirrs in the background indicated that he was in a sickbay. Other than that, he had no memory of how he’d ended up here, and no idea which sickbay he was in. 

He tried to sit up, but found himself restrained across the chest and legs, rendering him completely unable to move. He struggled for a few moments, finally managing to wiggle one hand out from under the binding across the chest, and then it was only the work of a moment to unfasten the bonds that were restraining him and sit up. When he discovered no adverse effects from that, he leaned over and unfastened the binding across his legs. Dangling his legs over the side of the bed, he slid downward, only to have his legs turn to jelly, and dump him unceremoniously to the floor. 

As he struggled to stand, the sickbay doors whooshed open, and a murderous voice bellowed, “You get your tail back in that bed before I sedate you.” Thinking how much easier that was to say than to actually do, James Kirk took hold of the side of the bed for support, and with a Herculean effort, hauled himself upright, though he did not completely make it onto the bed. With his heart pounding in his ears, Kirk fought off a wave of dizziness, and managed to remain upright—just. He glared at the familiar face across from him with some irritation. 

“I can’t—”, he began. 

“Serves you right, far as I’m concerned,” the doctor barked, but he moved to help his young patient as he saw him start to fall again. “Are you out of your mind? What were you thinking?” With one hand steadying Lt. Kirk, the young doctor used his free hand to lower the bed, so James could climb back under the covers. 

“How did you know?” Kirk asked, wondering for the millionth time since he’d known him if the doctor was telepathic. Seemed like he always knew when Kirk was up to something. 

“I know you, Jim.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Nice to see you again, too, my friend.” The doctor’s voice was laced with sarcasm, but for all that, it was affectionate enough. 

“Answer me, you old sawbones.” Affection belied the irritation in the lieutenant’s voice as he addressed his friend. “What are you doing here?” 

“I work here. You’re the one who’s visiting. Now, have you learned your lesson, or do I need to use the restraints again?”

“I’ll behave. I promise.” He looked around, trying to decide if this sickbay looked like the one where he’d first met the doctor. He couldn’t tell.

“Good. Then I’ll allow you to sit up while we talk. Glad to see you’re feeling better by the way. You had us worried for a while there. Are you hungry?” Jim Kirk considered for a moment, and then, deciding that he was indeed very hungry, he nodded. The doctor picked up a meal card from his desk, placed the order with the synthesizers, and then, bringing the tray over and settling it in front of Kirk, he sat down in a chair next to the bed. He decided his patient was feeling better when Kirk said, “Chicken soup? That’s all you have?”

“No, but it is likely all your body can handle right now. Eat up. You need to regain some strength.” Kirk took the spoon and dipped it into the soup, then raised it to his mouth, savoring the warmth, even if synthesized food did only taste like a memory of its authentic counterpart. Watching him closely, the doctor asked, “Do you remember what happened?” Kirk paused, spoon halfway to his bowl, and thought about that question for a moment. “The last thing I remember is being on the ship, during a normal duty shift. Now, I am here, wherever here is.”

“You don’t remember being poisoned?”

“Poisoned? How?”

‘That’s what we are trying to figure out. All we’ve determined so far is that you were being poisoned for at least six weeks, and that the poison had some unusual side effects. You are a strong young man. By the time your CMO caught the illness, all they could do was bring you here.”

“Bones, what do you mean by ‘unusual side effects’?”

“Never mind that. You will remember when you are ready to remember. I’d like to let nature take its course on things like that.” 

[End Flashback]

Captain James T. Kirk smiled slightly as he turned off the sickbay desk viewer, thinking back over that day when he tried to sneak out of Bones McCoy’s sickbay, and learned that his doctor and his friend missed very little. He wondered if it would work today any better than it had then. After all, he’d been ill then, and he was in top form now. At the moment, Bones was in another area of sickbay, checking on a space sick crewman, while the Captain was in the middle of his quarterly physical. If he moved quickly, he could probably make it almost to his quarters before McCoy came back.

Mischief twinkling in his eyes, he slipped off the bed with his tunic shirt around his neck, and was out the door and down the hall in a matter of seconds. As he made his way down the hall, he thought back over that day, so many years ago, glad to know that some things hadn’t changed in the intervening time, and smiling widely at McCoy’s reaction when he came back and discovered that the Captain had given him the slip. He frowned a little bit as he realized that he never did learn what McCoy had meant when he told him that he’d suffered unusual side effects from the poison, and he made a mental note to ask McCoy about it later. Reaching his quarters, he punched in the code that would allow him access to his room. Still encased in his reverie, he walked inside, and was greeted by a familiar bellow. 

“If you don’t sit your butt down on this bed until I’m finished, I’ll declare you unfit for duty and confine you to sickbay, if I have to tie you to the table in there to do it.” Meekly, Jim sat down at his table, and the doctor moved over beside him, tricorder in hand.

“Bones, how did you get in here?”

“I have the magic code!” the doctor said, sarcastically. 

“I don’t mean that, Bones. I mean, how did you beat me to my own quarters?”

“I know you, Jim. And, you seem to have forgotten that sickbay has more than one exit. Now, I believe we have a physical to finish.” Bones glowered at his Captain, and Kirk felt a little guilty for having the doctor on. He managed to look somewhat contrite. “Sorry Bones, I couldn’t resist. Do we need to return to sickbay so you have access to the equipment there?” Bones’ frown softened slightly. “Nah. We were almost finished anyway. The few things we had left to do I can do right here. You might find some of these tests a tad more comfortable had you stayed in sickbay, but that was your decision,” he said, mollified. 

“Do you remember that day when I tried to sneak out of your sickbay before?” 

“Someone’s been looking at the medical record tapes in the restricted section of ship’s library again,” McCoy said accusingly. 

“As Commanding Officer of this vessel, I have a responsibility to know what is happening with every person on board,” Kirk said, indignantly. Judging the doctor’s mood, Kirk really did not want to ask the next question he had to ask, but there was no avoiding it. He had to know. It could mean the safety of a crewman, and therefore the ship itself, and that left him very little choice. He took a deep breath. “Bones, did Mr. Scott ever come to you to sort out his memories after his accident?”

“Dammit Jim, those are supposed to be confidential.” Bones scowled at the Captain. The gruffness in his voice gave way to something more like amused frustration, and Kirk swallowed a sigh of relief. McCoy shook his head, stifling his laughter because he was not yet quite ready to forgive the Captain this little indiscretion. Actually, the Captain had the right to demand a report for every person on the ship, and McCoy had a responsibility to bring the medical issues of crew members to the Captain’s attention, but looking at the tapes was treading on the edge of his authority as Captain, since some issues in those records were meant only for the CMO to see. 

Still, McCoy knew Kirk well enough to know that he didn’t just pry into the private lives of his crew without good reason. Instead of saying the few choice things that came to mind, things that probably only he could get away with saying to his Captain, he contented himself with filling the largest hypospray he had. Moving back across the Captain’s quarters, he smiled wickedly. “Drop your pants.” Kirk stared at him, not comprehending.

“What?”

“You heard me. The latest vaccine that Starfleet requires works best in the backside, so that’s where it’s going. Now, either you can drop trou or I can drop them for you.”

“You’re enjoying this,” the Captain grumbled, but he unfastened his trousers and pushed them down to his knees. “You didn’t answer my question” he said, more to take his mind off of what was about to happen than because he needed an immediate report. Bones was very good at his job, and Kirk knew that the doctor would tell him anything he felt his Captain needed to know.   
“Why do you ask, Jim?” For all of his frustrations with the Captain’s methods of information gathering, McCoy knew he did not pry into the lives of his crew members without good reason. In fact, most of the time, the record tapes the Captain perused were those involving himself. McCoy held the hypo spray to the very bottom of the small of his back, just below the waistline of his boxers, and Kirk winced as it delivered its load. “Have you seen something, Captain?”

“No, not exactly.” He laid his concerns out for McCoy, and as he did so, he realized how flimsy they sounded, even to him. When he finished, McCoy regarded him with the manner of a man who had learned long ago to trust this man’s instincts more than most men’s witnessed observations. “I don’t know, Captain. The accident was three months ago, and it’s only bothering him now? I’ve heard of trauma cases in which patients experience problems years later, but Scotty is as grounded as they come.” He chose his words carefully here. “I have trouble believing that it would be so with him. I’ll stop by and talk to him, though. See what I can find out.”

“Thank you, Doctor. Are we finished?”

“Almost sir.”

(0o0)

Lieutenant Nyota Uhura didn’t wait for the doors to her quarters to slide open all the way before she slipped inside through the widening crack. She sank down into her desk chair, slipping off her shoes as she did so. A moment later, she was up again, moving restlessly through her living quarters. She pushed the button to open up her wardrobe and selected a sarong made of brightly colored silk. Tossing it onto her bed, she then moved to the replicators and ordered some hot spiced tea. She commanded her viewer to begin a search for a book in the ship’s library. Retrieving her tea, she sat down at her desk and began to read. She soon grew restless again. She couldn’t concentrate on the book, or on anything else. Maybe some music would help. “Computer, Bach symphony 9 please.” 

As the music began, she closed her eyes, and allowed it to wash over her. Shapes began moving behind her eyelids, but it was too dark to make out anything else about them. Visions began to play out in her mind, almost like dreams turned nightmarish. It was too dark to see, but she saw red, burning eyes, evil eyes, and a swirl of red smoke followed by a high pitched voice.   
Terrified, she heard herself screaming, and she tried to open her eyes, but she couldn’t. Finally, the music stopped and her eyes flew open. She wasn’t making a sound, but her heart beat wildly in her chest, and Uhura knew she wouldn’t sleep for a very long time.


End file.
